Text Me When We're Both Sober
by EucalyptusKisses
Summary: Dean is seventeen. He should be in his junior year of high school, playing for his school's baseball team and doing college apps. Instead, he's landed himself in rehab, for substance and drug abuse. He's bitter, reeling, full of anger and shame and confusion. Two days later, his therapy group gets their final addition - Castiel. Maybe now rehab won't be so bad. Destiel
1. Prologue

**(A/N: This is based off a book called "Clean" by Amy Reed, so certain parts of this fanfic are set up the same way, like the group therapy sessions and personal essays. I'm not plagiarizing, though. Also, I was watching season 3 of ****_The Most Popular Girls in School_****, and that is why there is so much swearing in the prologue.)**

Dean

fuck you fuck you fuck you FUCK YOU fuck everybody I don't need to be here. There is _nothing wrong _with me, dammit. I have everything under control.

Castiel

I hope I remembered to bring my bible. And my AP Latin binder. Did I bring those things? I can't remember; I packed quickly. I'll fall behind rather quickly if I didn't. I hope Father won't be too angry that I'm here, but it _was _the first in-patient treatment center that had an opening. Hopefully most of the other occupants are Christians.

Bela

I swear to God - is this place sanitary? Do they just reuse old bedsheets? There are a few stains on mine that _cannot _be natural. It makes me pretty sure the last girl or guy who used this bed was some cock-sucking whore. And they took away all my face products. How the hell am I supposed to get rid of all these pimples?

Ruby

I swear that if that British cow doesn't shut her deranged mouth, I'll fucking kill her. She won't stop acting like she's some hot shit. It's pretty damn obvious to me, though, that she's just a bitch and a fraud. God, what the fuck did I do to end up here?

Meg

Honestly, we've been here for two days, and all Ruby's done is verbally attack Bela. Or flirt with Dean. But anyway. Ruby thinks _she's_ got it bad? My roommate is some goddamn weird dipshit chick who's blind as all get out. She likes to do seances at all hours of the day and night and what do the nurses do about that? Jack shit. And get this: her name's _Pamela_. Who the fuck decides that that's a good name to give your kid?

Dean

They said we got to go outside sometimes. That means we can smoke, right? Or is that just for adults? Jesus Christ, I can't believe I'm in _rehab_. Smoking has got to be the only perk of being here.

Castiel

I'm fine, really. I don't have a problem. I mean, ok - my only issue is that I'm going to fall behind in AP Physics really quickly by being stuck here. It's a rigorous class. I have a 105% in all my classes except for that one. I have a 96 there. Do you know how much I'm going to miss? I won't be prepared for any of the AP exams. And this is going to mess up my academic standing - I was on the right track to becoming valedictorian.

Bela

I literally cannot believe that my parents put me in such a _dump_. The food here is so fucking greasy and we're not allowed to work out at all. Jesus, it's like they want me to become a bloated, disgusting whale. Oh, and Ruby is the biggest bitchsquealer - I was joking about offing myself with Dean - like _Romeo and Juliet_, because we both hate it here - and now I'm on suicide watch by one of the nurses because Ruby ran her huge ass mouth.

Ruby

Dean, Bela, and Meg are the only people I've talked to in here. We all have group therapy together. And as far as I can tell, they haven't talked to anyone else. Anyway, it's not like I've had much of a chance to talk to anyone else, since I've only been here almost three days. And most of it I've been either hungover and high and shaking, or experiencing withdrawal. I don't care for the other girls, but Dean's alright. He'd be a pretty boy to screw over. For whatever reason, the four of us eat meals together. We act like we can't stand each other, so I don't know why we're voluntarily socializing.

Meg

Pam told me her therapy group is worse than mine. She has Crowley, Anna, Jo, Zachariah, and Uriel. I talked to Anna once. She was the most obnoxious, self-righteous bitch I've ever encountered, and that's saying something. Jo keeps to herself, and Uriel and Zach are pompous. I like Crowley, to an extent. But god, what a shitty-ass group to get. Although, any combination would be bad to get, I think. At least my group is tolerable. Ruby has a theory that we stick together because no one else will put up with us. I think she's right, in a way. In a building so full of pain and shame and rage, so full of drug addicts and alcoholics who take to needles or lines or the bottle to escape their bodies, their minds, their life, no one in their right mind would put up with us. So we have to stick together so we can lean on each other for faux-support, like a fragile house of cards . . . even though at our cores, we're all self-absorbed in our own bubble full of shards of pain and desires for things that will kill.


	2. Part 1

We got a new arrival, sometime last night - I fell asleep before he got here, but he was in my room when I woke up, making his bed so tightly the sheets seemed to stretch uncomfortably across his mattress. His name's Castiel. Fucking weird-ass name, if you ask me. Not that _anyone_ asks me what I think anymore.

So I have to just amuse myself by getting the other girls worked up in anger. Breakfast, which is where we all are now, is rife with opportunities - it's early, and none of them are happy.

"What the fuck is this? Is this plastic? This can't be fresh," Bela mumbles, poking at her salad. She takes a bite, twists her face in disgust, and swallows like someone is forcing her to. "God, that is some nasty shit." She goes to eat her small helping of varied fruits.

I honestly don't why she bothers getting the fucking salad - Bela never eats more than a tiny mouthful of it. And since when was it a breakfast food? For all the health nuts, I guess, they had to offer something other than pancakes and waffles.

"You're some nasty shit," Ruby snaps back around a mouthful of her breakfast concoction: granola mixed in with pink yogurt.

"Pot. Kettle. Black," Bela replies, lip curling up. Which I guess is her way of saying _Takes one to know one._

I shove some cereal into my mouth, then another spoonful, and then I look at Ruby and Bela with my hands up placatingly. "Ladies, ladies," I announce softly - Jesus, I'm still tired and angry and it feels like my skin is too small for my body. "It's eight-thirty. Why don't we put this cat fight on hold until Quiet Time? You are all welcome to stay in my room for as _long_ as you like." I shoot them both a suave, charming smile.

Quiet Time is the doctors' way of saying we're hyperactive, strung out shits who need to Just Calm Down in our room for forty-five minutes. We have it twice a day - one right after morning group therapy, so right before Arts and Crafts (at least, that's the activity we have today before lunch), and one right before dinner.

"You're so gross, Dean," Meg complains. "Stop trying to get into everybody's pants. You're a such a horn dog." She's eating waffles and milk, which _normal_ breakfast food. What's not normal is where she's eating it - where we're all eating breakfast.

And again I have to roll my eyes. "I'm not a 'horn dog', whatever that means."

Silence falls, and no one bothers to break it until Castiel comes up, bearing a small bowl of oatmeal and water. "Is anyone sitting there?" he asks dully, monotonously, referencing the empty chair next to Meg and me.

It's not like we can tell him to fuck off, even though it's clear that the girl's and I have varying degrees of wanting him to not hang around. "No, go and sit in it," Meg finally says.

As soon as he sits, we start grilling him.

"So why are you here?" Ruby demands.

Bela gives her a look. "Don't be such an asshat, Ruby. You're not supposed to discuss issues outside of group, remember?"

"We're a group in and out of therapy, Bela. We're practically a clique," Meg interrupts, with an undercurrent of sarcasm.

As she and Bela partake in one of their rare rounds of biting each other's heads off, Ruby and I look at Castiel, who looks so composed and contained I'm half wondering if he just wandered in here by mistake by the time he talks.

"Well," he begins calmly, though he keeps shooting the occasional dismal look at Bela and Meg. "I don't have a problem. I'm not really sure why I'm in here. I'm quite sure I'll be let out in a day or so. It's just a misunderstanding."

Ruby rolls her eyes, and I'm pretty sure she's just abandoned the rest of her food in her new fascination of Castiel's firm denial.

"Right. Because this is actually just some sort of country day spa for teenagers. We're just all here to have a nice little vaca-y away from our real lives," Ruby replies dryly. She shoots Castiel a look, and then gives me one, one that says _good god he has so much denial._

Which I kind of agree with, actually. Castiel can shove his denial up his ass; clearly he has a fucking problem just like the rest of us, or else he wouldn't be here.

Because I think Ruby is going to annihilate this kid, who's basically the definition of a dork, I intervene. "What's your poison?" I prop my face up by my hand while I ask, and he shoots me a confused look.

"Pardon? My 'poison'?" He tentatively takes a small bite of his oatmeal, chewing quickly like he thinks he won't get another chance.

I laugh, and Meg elaborates just then - I guess she and Bela are done feuding. "You know. Your drug of choice. What got you in here? Like, mine was excessive alcohol, popping pills, and some ecstasy."

Naturally, before he can say anything, Pamela comes over and tells us to stop harassing Castiel, even though it's directed at me. She goes to sit with this hot girl named Anna, and they look like they're talking seriously about something.

The rest of breakfast passes with the dork eating stiffly and quietly, me hitting on Bela and her flirting back, Ruby tossing her hair and wondering aloud about various existential questions to no one, and Meg making gooey eyes at Castiel.

* * *

><p><strong>Group Therapy with Ellen the Therapist (feat. Dean, Ruby, Bela, Meg, and Castiel)<strong>

ELLEN: So, why doesn't everybody take a seat?

DEAN: Sit next to me, Bela.

RUBY: Ellen, Dean's doing it again with Bela.

ELLEN: Shut it, Ruby. And Dean, stop trying to hit on Bela.

BELA: Like I mind at all.

ELLEN: What was that?

BELA: Nothing.

MEG: Hey, Clarence, you sit here. It's the only free seat left.

CASTIEL: Oh, do you mean me? Well . . . alright. Thank you.

RUBY: Meg, stop trying to seduce Castiel. No one in a five mile radius would bang you.

ELLEN: Ruby, you're apologizing to Meg after Group Therapy. So, everybody, we have a new member - _Castiel_. Why don't we go around and introduce ourselves?

DEAN: I'm Dean. I'm from Lawrence, Kansas. My addictions are - were - alcohol and a tiny bit of LSD.

RUBY: I'm Ruby. I'm sixteen. I 'abused' ketamine and some PCP.

BELA: I'm Bela, seventeen years old. I'm a little old ex-coke addict.

MEG: And I'm Meg. I'm fifteen years of age. My poisons were liquor, some ecstasy, and pill popping.

ELLEN: Now, what about you, Castiel?

CASTIEL: Well. I'm Castiel. I'm seventeen. I have to tell you, something, though. I don't have a problem. I'm going to fall behind in school, however, if I stay here very long, so do you think I could do my homework during the afternoon activity? I want to get out as quickly as possible.

ELLEN: Honey, you're in rehab, not study hall. You'll do your work during the allotted time and that's it. This a place for getting help.

CASTIEL: But -

ELLEN: No buts. Would you like to share why you're here?

CASTIEL: [after a pause] This wasn't my idea. It was court-ordered. According to my parents, I have an issue with Ritalin and Adderall. I've also had Molly before. Although, it's not a big deal. I had it under control. I'm fine.

ELLEN: Thanks for sharing, Castiel. Let's talk about how we're doing, and how we're feeling. Then all of you can take over from there. Dean, why don't you start?

DEAN: [eyeroll] _I'm_ fine.

BELA: Bullshit.

MEG: Bullshit.

RUBY: Bullshit.

DEAN: Dammit.

CASTIEL: [to Ellen] I don't understand what's going on. Am I missing a reference to something?

ELLEN: Meg, can you explain this technique to Castiel?

MEG: 'Fine' isn't a feeling word. It's a _placeholder_ word. It's a way to cover up your emotions.

ELLEN: Dean, pick a word from this sheet . . . [shuffles through a stack of paper before handing one to Dean] . . . and pick a feeling word.

DEAN: [under breath] God, this is a waste of time. [scans paper for a moment] Ok, I feel uncomfortable. And overwhelmed.

ELLEN: Why do you feel that way?

DEAN: Well, I don't like doing this exercise, so that's why I feel uncomfortable.

ELLEN: Cut your shit, Dean.

DEAN: _Fine_. I feel discomfort because I'm in rehab, not at my high school. I'm the captain of the baseball team, and I'm basically letting my teammates down by not being there. And I feel, like, overwhelmed because I'm scared that if - when - I go back, everybody's going to know that I was here and that's why I'm so behind. In homework and stuff.

RUBY: Sometimes I can trick myself into thinking that I'm on a fabulous vacation. Mostly I just pretend that I'm in this glamorous but secretly awful place, like fucked up Cirque du Soleil and I have to jump through hoops and shit to earn my freedom back.

BELA: Except there's nothing glamorous about being here.

MEG: Oh, I can think of a few things . . . [shoots a flirty look at Castiel]

ELLEN: Meg, you're here to recover, not find a boyfriend.

BELA: You should just take deep breathes, Dean. Lots of them. That's what helps me when I get stressed about school.

RUBY: That's bull. You have to work off the stress.

BELA: How? I mean, besides _your _tried and failed method of giving people second rate handjobs.

RUBY: Shut up, Bela. At least I didn't fuck people in exchange for drugs.

ELLEN: Ruby, you need to R and R.

RUBY: What the hell? It's true; why do _I _always get slammed for telling the truth?

ELLEN: Because you could use an attitude change and a different approach to talking to people.

RUBY: Bela, I think that Dean needs a different coping strategy.

ELLEN: Very good, Ruby.

CASTIEL: All of you need to write down your slang so I can understand.

DEAN: R and R means that you have to rephrase and redirect. We have to practice it as part of Anger Management.

MEG: [under breath} Goddamn, this is going to be a very long month.

* * *

><p>The next day, we're split up into two different groups: one will go to Horticulture, and the other will stay inside. Apparently horticulture has something to do with taking care of plants and shit, which means going outside the greenhouse that this rehab has.<p>

Meg, Bela, Anna, Crowley, Uriel, and Garth go out to do some leafy stuff. I resent them, as it means they're allowed some form of freedom from this building full of teens rotting inside. I'm not one for gardening, but going outside and being free of shackles - even if it is a delusion - seems precious.

Not all of us get to go outside, though. We're a large group, us teenagers on the second floor. The nurses or someone split us up into two groups for when we have activities like that.

That means that I, along with Pamela, Ruby, Lilith, Cas, and Zachariah get to stay inside to do some shit activity with one of the instructors. Her name's Gilda. Pretty, but so not my type. Not that I'd have a chance with her anyway. We don't really get to interact with the authority figures except in a very casual way.

We're all in a white-ish room with a gray carpet. There's a window on one side that takes up a quarter of the wall. And the other half has a few pictures, with a small, round desk. There are two tables in the middle, and a medium sized couch against one of the walls. Opposite it is a whiteboard with some erasers and markers.

There's a bookcase on the wall opposite of the window, filled with books like _The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants, _boardgames like _Sorry _and _Monopoly_, and card games like _Uno_. Sometimes I feel like we're in fucking kindergarten.

"Alright, everybody," Gilda announces, clapping her hands once we're all settled in our seats. "Before we do anything, we need to write our goals on the board. Who wants to write?"

Lilith's hand shoots into the air. "I want to," she voices. And she shoots us a look that very clearly says no one else better speak up about writing. Not that anyone does; no one likes writing our goals.

So Lilith walks up to the board, and picks a black dry-eraser marker. My eyes glaze over almost instantly; I'm tired as fuck and fidgety as hell. She writes _Goals_ in the middle of the board, then looks at Gilda expectantly.

"Let's go in a circle and say our goals," Gilda tells us. "Zac, what do you want to accomplish today?"

He shrugs. "Not killing someone."

"Zac, you know the policy about making threats," Gilda gently reminds him. She gives him an appraising look, and he sighs.

"Fine. I'll work on filtering my thoughts," Zac offers, and she nods.

Gilda hesitates briefly, then says, "Perhaps you should also consider ways of healthy communicating.

Zachariah shrugs. "Whatever."

And then Lilith writes carefully, _Zachariah: Filtering thoughts/healthy communicating_

I shift in my seat, eyes flitting around. I have no idea what the hell my goal should be. I mean, besides not relapsing. Why do we even have to have these stupid ultra-short-term goals?

Pamela makes a groaning noise and says, "I guess that means I'm next. Um . . ." She pauses and squints at the ceiling. "I won't make slut jokes about Bela today."

Cas goes after Pam, grumbling about how he wants time to do his homework. Then Ruby, who keeps smirking as if she has some devious fucking plan underway. Lilith is after her, and she's got some small smirk on her face.

Eventually, of course, it's my turn, and I blow out several annoyed breathes.

"Dean," Gilda prompts me in the softest, kindest tone, and damn if it doesn't make me think of Mom for a second.

I shrug. "I guess I'll work on some coping methods today. For anger."

Gilda nods. "So you want to figure out how to healthily deal with your anger?"

"Yeah. Basically," I nod, even though that's not really what I meant. Not that I'm so sure what I meant, but I had to give some bullshit answer.

Now that we're all done, the board looks like this:

_Goals_

_Zachariah: Filtering thoughts/healthy communicating_

_Pamela: Not slut-shame_

_Castiel: Focus on meditation (for "serenity")_

_Ruby: Have more patience with others_

_Lily: Try to listen to what others have to say_

_Dean: Coping methods for anger_

"Now that we've all got our goals, let's split up into two different groups. Zac, Pam, and Lily, you'll be in one group. Dean, Ruby, and Castiel, you'll be the second group," Gilda announces.

Since there are supposed to be two groups, we go sit at one of the two tables. Cas and Ruby join me while Pam goes to join her group. Once we're all together, Gilda hands out a worksheet to each of us, with a triangle in the middle. It's big; takes up most of the sheet. It's split evenly into three different sections: filled in at the top is the color red, with _anger _next to it. The middle part is yellow, with the word _happy _next to it. And the bottom part is blue, with the word _sad _next to it.

There are lines in the shape, which I presume means we're going some kind of exercise. "In your groups, I want you to think of three synonyms for each of the words, and write the synonyms in their appropriate space. So you wouldn't put _joyful _in the blue section. When both groups are done, we'll share our lists, then do another exercise." Once Gilda is done explaining, we all go straight to work.

"Let's each take one section," Castiel tells us, when we're all looking at each other. "I'll do the _happy_ section, Dean, you can do the _angry _section, and Pamela, you can do the _sad _section." He draws himself up a bit, as if pleased.

But with the look on Pamela's face, it's clear she's not taking his orders. "We're supposed to do all the sections together, you doofus," she replies, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "We're gonna start at the top and work our way down."

I roll my eyes. "Ok. Um, any suggestions for _anger?_"

Castiel frowns. "It would be quicker if we split up."

"But that's not the point. This worksheet is supposed to teach us different ways to express our feelings. It's not about finishing it quickly," Pamela huffs.

Because I'm not in the mood to watch an argument - it's enough that I have three girls in my therapy group, Jesus - I intervene. "So who has suggestions for the word anger?"

By the time we're done, we have: _rage, indignation, antagonism, lively, merry, frolicsome, melancholy, woebegone, somber_ all listed neat as can be in Castiel's firm, small handwriting.

Pamela reads our list, and Ruby reads her group's list, which consists of thins like _despondent, exultant, _and _irritation_.

Gilda then passes out a piece of paper with a list of seven names - Alice, Kathleen, Marie, George, Kadir, Indigo, and John. It lists their age, a few descriptive adjectives, their profession (except for Kathleen, who's six), and either something bad they've done, like abused an animal or shoplifted, or a destructive habit, like smoking.

The point of the activity is that in our groups (since the six of us are still split up) we have to pretend that we're all on a cruise with these bitches. Except the ship is sinking, we can only save five people, and we have to decide who we'd save.

Which is actually kind of symbolic, I think. There are twelve of us as far as teenagers go in this particular rehab. And in total, there are about a hundred or so people here. I think there's a statistic that out of everybody who gets out of in-patient treatment places, espcially one for drug rehabilitation, that only 33% of people actually get better and stay that way. 33% end up the same as they were before they entered, and 33% get worse after leaving.

So, out of us twelve, who's going to save themselves, who's going to give up, and who's going to try not to sink, but give up anyway?


End file.
